Psychic Shell
by Amita12
Summary: This series can't really be summarized in 255 characters, so I'll list some key descriptor words: global catastrophe, psychic powers, "creators" meeting the "created", semi-hard science fiction, dimensional rift, battle between good and evil, and more...
1. Silence After the Storm

Psychic Shell

By: Michael Graham

Chapter One:

The Silence After the Storm

"_There's a theory that states that everyone's minds are all connected by a psychic web. What if this web is the source of all creativity? What if our ideas are really products of a psychic link that binds the 'creator' to the 'created'? It would mean that we didn't create anything, but rather we glimpsed into the lives of the people we thought were pure fiction." –(me)_

Explosions bombard the ruined city as a small group of survivors run towards the last three transport ships. As they near the ships, a man in his early twenties looks back to see if anyone was lagging behind, only to witness tall buildings collapsing into the abysmal depths of earth.

"Come on! You're almost there!" yelled a cybernetic man from the back of one of the transport ships.

The ground quakes under their feet as they desperately dash for their only hope of survival. A dust cloud washes over them, obscuring their view to a twenty foot radius. Guided by the loud sounds coming from the transport ships engines, the group makes it in time and splits up into different transport ships. As the man boards the ship, he hears the cyborg yelling over the ongoing explosions.

"I'm sorry, mam, we're out of room! You've got to get to one of the other transport ships before they take off!"

The man looks back to see a woman in her early forties and his expression turns to panic. "No, wait, she's with me!"

"It's ok; I'll get on another ship!" The woman runs off.

"No, wait!" he tries to get back off, but the cyborg stops him with an arm.

"We can't wait any longer, we have to take off!" He presses two fingers against his temple, "Robin, get us out of here!"

The transport door slowly closes as the ship rises from the ground and prepares to leave. The man cries out in panic as the ship takes off. "Please, you don't understand! She's my –" an explosion erupts from below, violently shaking the ship. The man flies up and bangs his head against the ceiling.

The man springs from his bed into a sitting position, breathing faster than normal. He attempts to calm himself before shifting his position to the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes and face from grogginess. He looks at the digital alarm clock perched on the bedside table, which read "7:48 am". The man takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh before getting up.

The sun baths the city with warm light while a few clouds float freely in the sky. The man blocks the city noise with his headphones while he walks the streets of downtown Jump City, his expression lost in thought. He passes by a television shop, their TVs broadcasting news coverage of angry protestors protesting just outside of a large "T" shaped building. They held signs that read things like "YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE!", "STOP TAKING OUR JOBS!", and "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!"

"In other news, angry protestors have flocked to Titans Tower, where the remaining survivors, of the 2012 incident, have been relocated to, after they were threatened by the terrorist cell known as, 'Vaccine.' It all began just a week ago, when Vaccine first demonstrated their beliefs by burning down four of the hotels that were home to forty-three refugees, killing thirty-five."

"Yes," the male anchor begins, "but before that, their numbers were already plummeting as twenty-four refugees had committed suicide, over the last four months. We started with sixty-seven survivors, but after the suicides and the terrorist attack, the total of refugees has dramatically dropped to eight."

The man lies silently on a psychiatric couch as an older man sits in a chair behind him, out of view from the man.

"How are you feeling today, Michael?" the man in the chair asks. Michael continues to lie in silence, staring at the ceiling. The man shifts, "The Titans tell me you haven't spoken a word ever since your arrival. Would you like to share with me how you are doing?" The man waits patiently before chuckling, "Don't worry, I'm not like the rest of them: I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to help you." The room goes silent. Only the ticking of a grandfather clock and sounds from the buzzing street, could be heard.

A few minutes go by before Michael finally begins to speak, "I can't find my mom."

"Oh? Who is your mom? What does she look like?"

"H-her name is Wendi… she's in her forties, now… short black hair… tattoo on her shoulder… she said she'd be on the other transport... but, when we landed, I couldn't find any other transport… she's gone… in a different world… along with the rest of my family and friends."

"Could you tell me of your world? What exactly happened?"

Michael stays silent.

"Er, my apologies, I shouldn't have asked such a difficult question on our first session. Why don't we end it here and continue tomorrow?"

The living room of Titans Tower is alive with voices of relaxing Titans plus a couple refugees who are showing signs of mental improvement. Starfire, Robin, and the refugees are watching Beast Boy and Cyborg play video games on the big screen while Raven makes tea.

"BOOYAH!" Cyborg yells.

"AAAGGH!" exclaims Beast Boy as he loses to Cyborg.

"Who's next for a butt woopin?"

Suddenly, Michael enters the room. He raises his hand and says, "H..h-hi." Everyone turns around, surprised. The room goes silent, except for the sounds coming from the video game, as everyone stares at him. "U-um…" he says, holding the back of his neck. He then mumbles something inaudible and turns around to leave.

"Hey, wait!" Beast Boy says, "Do you wanna join us?"

Michael turns around to see a grinning Beast Boy staring back at him. "U-um… sure," he cracks a small smile.

_"As we near 2012, our solar system moves ever closer to the equator of the Milky Way, where the highest energy gama rays ever detected, are emitting."_

_

* * *

  
_


	2. The Figurine

Chapter Two:

The Figurine

Michael and another man walk towards a blazing horizon. All around them, tall ruined buildings float in a vast see of sand. The wind blows gently against their sunburned cheeks as they continue to press on.

"Deric?"

"Yeah, Mike?" the man replies.

"Do you think…? Do you think they're still alive?" Michael asks with concern.

A moment passes before Deric looks at him. He fixes his gaze back at the horizon and replies, "I honestly don't know." Minutes pass as they continue to walk the sunken highway. "I heard Portland fell victim to a –"

"Don't… say it." Michael snaps. "Let's just… let's just talk about something else." Silence befalls them once again.

"Who knew this shit would happen?"

Michael stares into space, "Yeah."

"I've been…" Michael begins, "having nightmares ever since I got here."

"Is that so?" The psychiatrist asks. "What kind of nightmares?"

Michael shifts a bit in the psychiatric couch. "Memories."

"Memories?" The psychiatrist readies his pen in anticipation. "Would you like to share them with me?"

"U-um…" Michael pauses. He takes a deep shaky breath before replying, "I-I'm… walking through the buried city of Salem… with one of my best friends."

"Can you describe this friend?" He pauses before asking, "Who is he?"

Michael puts a hand into his pocket. "H-his name is Deric. He's got brown hair… and brown eyes. He's taller than me… I think… I can barely remember his face," his eyes get watery, "I can barely remember anyone's face."

"Hmm…" The psychiatrist writes with finesse on his notepad, "Do you remember anything else?"

"We… we were going to Portland… where my friends and family were… Deric agreed to help me because…"

"…because…?"

"U-um… nothing… I was just glad we were carrying swords."

"Swords? Why were you carrying swords?"

Michael stares into space, "Because the military wanted every bullet they could get their hands on."

"Was your country at war?"

"No… Almost everyone was infected."

"Infected?" He looks at Michael. "By what?"

"I-I…" he stutters, "I don't know." A moment of silence passes over them.

The psychiatrist sighs, "Well, we've made some progress, Michael. Why don't we call it a day?"

Michael slowly gets up from the couch and saunters towards the exit. He pauses at the door, "Thanks… Dr. Goldman."

Dr. Goldman looks up from his notepad, "Of course. Feel free to pop in anytime you feel like talking."

Michael leaves the room and heads for the elevator.

As he exits the building, he hears a loud explosion from nearby and instantly ducks his head. He glances around for any signs of smoke or rubble and spots a building on fire. He sprints into action and heads for the burning apartment complex. The sounds of screams and a woman's cry for help grow louder as he approaches the building. The last couple of able people exit the building.

"There's still somebody in there!" An ash covered woman screams, "Somebody call the firemen!"

Michael dashes in the smoke filled building, pulling his shirt over his nose to try and filter out the smoke. The hallway was already covered in flames. He knew the building couldn't hold for very much longer, but he had to try and save that woman before she was engulfed in flames.

Hurrying up the weakened stairs, he makes his way to the third floor where the cry for help was emanating from. Michael begins to make his way down the hall, trying to pinpoint which room she was in, but flinches as a part of the roof falls before him.

"HEEELP! HELP ME, PLEASE! I'M STUCK!" A woman screams from behind room 306.

Michael hurries towards the door and kicks it down. The room was filled with smoke and debris. Rushing in, he notices a woman stuck from under a fallen bookshelf. "It's ok; I'm here to get you out of here!"

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" the woman replies with relief.

Michael carefully pulls up the bookshelf, freeing the woman. He helps her up and swings her arm over his shoulders, allowing her to put her weight on him.

"Ouch! My ankle; I think it's sprained!"

"Don't worry, we can still make it!"

They make their way out of the room and back into the hall, only to witness support beams collapsing, blocking their path.

"Oh, no! What are we going to do now?!" She desperately asks him.

"Is that the only stairway?" he asks.

"Yes! We're trapped!" she begins to cough uncontrollably as tears flood down her blackened face.

"No, we can make it!" They limp back into her apartment and he sets her down on a chair. "Just hang tight!" He surveys the room and spots a ceramic vase. Michael picks up the vase and breaks open the window before opening it with both hands, avoiding the metal latch. He takes off his shirt and sweeps off the glass from the window sill before rushing to the woman to help her up. "You're going to have to climb out and onto the next roof!"

With Michael's help, she climbs out the window and lands on the second story building below her. Michael follows in pursuit as the sounds of fire trucks enter the scene. He lands and helps the woman back up on her feet.

"Thank you so much - *cough* - for saving me - *cough, cough*!"

"Don't worry about it," he smiles.

Exiting the building, they are greeted by cheering and surprised Titans. Michael helps her to the awaiting ambulance before walking up to Robin and Starfire. "Um… Sorry," Michael grasps the back of his neck, "I guess I shouldn't have gone in there. I had forgotten that I wasn't on my world. We don't have superheroes like you."

"Well," Robin begins, "you made it out, didn't you?"

"And you saved that woman." Starfire continues.

They both smile at Michael, reassuring him.

"Just don't go into any more burning buildings." Robin finishes.

"Heh," Michael replies, "yeah, I'll make sure not to do that again."

A medic walks up to Michael, "I'm going to need to give you a checkup before you can leave. Being in there for that long could have severely damaged your body."

"Ok." Michael replies as he follows the woman back to the ambulance.

"Alright," she says as she takes out a small flashlight and inspects his eyes. "Are you having any difficulty breathing?"

"No."

"Cough."

Michael coughs.

"Huh," she says, "sounds normal. How were you able to breathe in there?"

"I used my shirt as a filter."

"Huh…" she replies, bewildered. "I'll be right back." She walks over to Robin, their voices just out of earshot. A couple minutes pass before she returns to him, "Well, it looks like your fine. You're free to go."

"Thanks."

Michael sits atop Titans Tower, watching the sun set into the ocean, it's warm palette spread across the sky. The sounds of city life are barely audible, making the experience all the more peaceful. He pulls out a small Beast Boy figurine from his pocket and holds it out in front of him. A flashback catches him as he inspects the figurine…

"Happy birthday, Michael!" a friend of his exclaims as she enters the cramped room.

"Thanks, Billy!" He replies with a smile spread across his face.

"I saw this at the store and thought of you, so I bought it for ya," she smiles as she hands him an unopened retail box with a Beast Boy figurine and vehicle inside.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps from behind him and subtly hides the figurine in his hand.

"Hey," a smiling Beast Boy sits next to him, "I heard what you did today. That was pretty brave. You saved that woman, back there, you should be proud of yourself."

"Heh, thanks. I am kinda proud of myself, I suppose."

A long pause passes over them before Beast Boy changes topic, "It's beautiful up here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Michael stares at the warm colors shining over the calm waters, "it is." He pauses, "More beautiful than I imagined." He opens his hand a bit, revealing the figurine's face, and subtly looks back down at it.

Michael and the rest of his friends laugh, "Haha, thanks! How did you know he was my favorite character?" he chuckles.

_"…are puzzled by the national suicide rate, which has increased dramatically by thirty percent over the last six months…"_


	3. Scars

Chapter Three:

Scars

"Mike, wake up! We need to move!" Deric's voice whispers in his ear with urgency as Michael slowly wakes.

"What's –"

"Shh! Keep it down!"

Footsteps echo through the halls of the building they were taking shelter in. Moon light floods through the broken windows as they strain their ears to identify the unknown.

"They've followed our trail." Deric whispers, "We need to get the hell out of here before they find us."

"Shit!" Michael curses under his breath as he picks up his sword, "We can't fight them in this condition. I'm still exhausted from the last patrol," He lifts up his right arm to reveal a large cut running across his side, "and this still needs to heal." Slowly, he gets up into a standing position and picks up his backpack.

"Let's go."

They quickly sneak towards the window, the building tilted upwards on its side, and look out to find the coast clear. Climbing through the window, they carefully walk down the side of the building to meet the ground.

"We'll have to ditch our car and hotwire a new one." Michael whispers, the cold night air stinging his bare and boney torso.

"Yeah," Deric replies.

Stealing off into the night, they make their way back to the buried highway. Michael's cargo pants were cut up from battle, shoes worn. His bare back was scarred, blood stains still visible amongst the purple bruising. Deric's body told the same story.

"This is far enough, I think," Michael says, as he opens the door to an abandoned jeep. He searches the vehicle for keys, only to find them in the middle compartment. "Looks like we don't need to hotwire. Good thing, too, because my fingers feel pretty numb." Turning the keys in the ignition, the engine roars to life, "Get in."

Driving through the barren landscape, the sun begins to peak over the horizon, warming the frozen skin of the exhausted friends. Deric, taking his chance to rest, is lying back in a reclined position, his eyes darkened from lack of sleep. Michael, now awake and alert, regularly checks their surroundings for any signs of life. Having not eaten for a day, he clenches his stomach with one hand, feeling it growl and whine for attention. "I sure could use some bacon and eggs, right about now," he whispers to himself, "though I probably shouldn't be thinking about food. It'll just make me even more hungry."

The terrain suddenly gets bumpier as they near the outskirts of Portland. Michael stops the jeep and exits the vehicle to search the ground. Picking up two small pebbles, he polishes them with the cloth of his pants before putting one under his tongue, forcing his mouth to salivate. He nudges Deric awake, "Here," he says, offering the second pebble, "put this under your tongue. We're out of water, but this should help a bit."

"Thanks." Deric follows his advice and sticks the pebble under his tongue. "Are we there, yet?"

Michael steps out of the vehicle and closes the door before replying through the open window, "Yeah."

Before them lies the destroyed city of Portland, it's majestic buildings utterly brought down to rubble. The scars in the earth suggest heavy bombardment, leaving little chance for survivors. Blood splatters frequent the environment as they gaze deeper into the fallen city.

"Let's hope they're long gone, by now. " Deric says; a serious look cast upon his face.

Michael grips the sheath of his sword with renewed purpose. "All the same, don't let your guard down."

Michael gently wakes to the sun light pouring through his window, his eyes forming narrow slits as he stares out through the glass. He takes a moment of peace before looking at the soft red numbers of his clock, which read "12:49pm." Taking a deep breath, he lets out a soft sigh. Getting up into a sitting position, the covers gently fall to the mattress, revealing multiple scars running all across his back. His right shoulder wasn't given mercy, either, as a thick scar cut deep into his skin. Rubbing his eyes and face, he attempts to rid himself of sleepiness before getting up to brush his teeth.

Hot water trickles down his back as he leans against the shower's wall, steam clouding the room. An empty stare lingers in his expression while he loses himself in deep thought; wondering how everyone else was holding up… if they were still alive. "I'll find you," he says with certainty. "Somehow… I'll find you."

"Welcome back, Mike," the barmaid smiles, "what can I get for ya?"

"Whiskey and a cream soda, please," he replies as he takes a seat at the bar.

"You got it," she takes out a glass and pours him the drink before grabbing a soda can from under the table. "Feel like talkin', today?" she asks as she leans on the counter.

Michael opens the can and mixes the soda with the whiskey. He takes a sip, and then sets it back down on the counter, eyes hung low. "What do you wanna know?"

The barmaid smiles, "I wanna know what your world was like." A moment of silence passes before her expression quickly changes to shock as she realizes how quickly she laid the question onto the man, "Uh, I mean, if you're ready to talk about it, that is. I mean, I'd totally understand if you –"

"Don't worry about it," he interjects, taking another sip. "It was…" he begins, "…beautiful. Even if I didn't agree with society half the time… I still miss it."

The barmaid forms a sympathetic face, "I'm sorry."

"No… don't be. I try to hold on to what little I can of my world, as not to lose my roots or the essence of my being. It's what keeps me sane… and alive." He takes a larger drink of the whiskey.

"I couldn't imagine what you're going through, right now."

"Don't worry about it," he downs the rest of his drink before getting up and paying. "Thanks for the drink."

"No," she refuses the money, "it's on the house."

Michael looks at her, her face still showing signs of sympathy, "Thanks."

Pocketing the money, he makes his way out the door, the barmaid's voice calling after him, "Come back anytime. And I hope you find what you're searching for."

Michael pauses at the door and turns around. He opens his mouth to speak, but is suddenly attacked by a sharp pain emanating from inside his skull. Screaming, he grabs his head and collapses to his knees, the barmaid rushing to his aid.

"Are you ok?!" Just then, he blacks out from the bombardment of pain, "Oh my god, somebody call an ambulance!" her voice fades as he falls deep into the core of his mind…

Falling into darkness, Michael lands in an ocean. His limbs not responding to his will, he sinks into the abysmal depths of pain and negativity. The heavy waters pull him deeper, like cold, dead hands dragging him down to his inevitable demise. Deeper and deeper, he plunges, the pressure becoming almost unbearable as he fights to hold his breath. A sharp pain suddenly punches him in the gut, releasing the air he so desperately tried to hold onto, allowing water to fill his lungs. His vision gets blurry as his body slowly shuts down. The sounds of voices could be heard in the distance, throwing him into an unwelcome memory…

The whip cracks against Michael's back, releasing a coarse scream from the depths of his dry throat. The man wielding the whip cackles, feeling an ecstasy from causing pain to the two tied up friends.

"This is more fun than shootin'!" The mercenary exclaims to his partner as he goes for his thirty-eighth slash.

"Hell, yeah!" the shortest of the two agrees. "We should do this more often!"

The other man regains stature, "Whadd'ya think, Kevins? We ready to use them as bait?"

"Yeah, they're bloodied enough, Frank. Let's get into position." Kevins puts his whip back under his belt, picks up his gun, and walks back through the night covered field.

Frank smiles at his victims, who were tied up with almost inescapable complex knots, before following his partner. The bright light of the moon lit up the barren patch that Michael and Deric were sitting in, like a spotlight revealing lone actors on a stage. The script was already written for them, deeming their fates, destined to be their last show.

Both weary and dehydrated, the friends fumble to try and escape their bonds, using whatever tools nature provided them with in the immediate area.

"Deric…" Michael's rough voice whispers, "…come here… untie… my shoelace…"

They both struggle to crawl to each other, falling to their backs like helpless turtles, dirtying the open wounds left on their bodies. After expending what little amount of energy they had left, Deric finally succeeds in untying a shoelace from Michael's skater shoe.

"Hold one end… the other… goes through my... ropes… and under… your boots."

Deric slowly gets into position without saying a word, his throat most likely too thrashed for speech. After a couple minutes of setting up, Michael begins to rock back and forth, the paracord shoelace cutting into his bonds.

Once free, he proceeds to untie Deric before retying his shoe. Looking out towards the mercenaries', he barely makes out the dark figures as they approach to investigate. Knowing they won't stand a chance in a fight, he taps Deric and points towards the hummer the mercenaries drove. Nodding in agreement, they take a moment to prepare their energy reserve before dashing with all their strength towards the vehicle.

Gunshots ring through the cold night air as the two stumble towards freedom. Heavy eyelids and empty stomachs betray their efforts, but they continue to press on. Michael trips on a rock and falls face first in the sand, bullets riddling the ground around him. Deric helps him to his feet as the mercenaries run after them.

With short breath, they make it to the hummer and jump inside. Deric turns the ignition, bringing the engine to life, and puts a lead foot on the gas pedal as he quickly takes off the emergency break and kicks the stick into drive. Screams of frustration and hatred call after them as the two friends escape their grim finale. Michael's eyes lay heavy. He quickly slips into a deep sleep, a wave of relief passing over him…

"_Reports of sudden aggression, by otherwise peaceful citizens, have everyone on edge as these mysterious cases grow in numbers. More on this, at ten."_


	4. Terminal

Chapter Four:

Terminal

Michael slowly opens his eyes, his vision blurry as tears build up. An immense throbbing pain pulsates from within the confines of his skull, as if it had been slammed against a concrete wall hundreds of times. Achy limbs lay in a hospital bed, too weak for movement. The vegetable state he was left in frustrates him to the core as he attempts to bend his fingers to his will. But alas, struggle as he may, his body would not listen. A wave of terror rushes down his spine as images of his incapable self flash before his eyes, feeling the utter horror of living out the rest of his life immobile.

With determination, he attempts to gather the pieces of his broken heart, reassuring himself with thoughts of optimism. He thinks about how he saved that woman and reminds himself of his ultimate goal to find his friends and family. His strength and willpower increase dramatically as pure thoughts of regrouping with everyone flood into his scarred mind, bringing a healing thread to stitch his soul back together. Lucky for him, his efforts were not futile, as the pain dulls down a touch.

Voices echo throughout his ears, as they speak with urgency, enhancing the already unbearable headache. Tear ducts nearly dry, he attempts to move his eyes to get a better look at the visitors, but quickly finds an inability to focus his pupils, failing to even recognize at least one person in the mass of blobs. His ears, however, were acute and able to do the deed without the help of sight.

"The doctors don't know what's wrong with them," Robin explains.

"Could it be because of something that happened on their world?" Cyborg asks.

"That's a possibility. They found an unknown substance in each of their blood samples."

"An unknown substance? What the hell happened on that planet? Everything seemed to just collapse, as if being sucked into a black hole!"

"I don't know, but we can't wait around for an answer any longer. We need to ask them as soon as they wake."

"How can we?" begins Beast Boy, "Every time we ask them, they either answer with 'I don't know' or they just stare into space! It's been four months and not a single one of them has helped us understand what happened!"

A pause hangs in the air as the sound of a nudge followed by the sight of upper body movement, occurs.

"He's awake." Cyborg tells the others. Immediately, they rush to his bedside and bombard him with questions.

"What happened on your world?"

"What's the substance in your blood?"

"Why didn't you tell us about the substance?"

"Why do you have scars all over your body?"

"How did you tear open a dimensional rift?"

"Why was everything destroyed when we got to your planet?"

"Titans! TITANS!" A familiar voice yells above the chaos, as she enters the room, "Are you interrogating my patient?" A moment of silence permeates the air, a feeling of guilt hanging heavy within the room.

The doctor rushes to Michael's bedside to check the stats on the equipment surrounding him before shining a flashlight at his pupils. His eyes tiredly dilate in response to the bright beam.

The doctor puts away the light, "Can you remember the last thing that you did?"

Michael struggles to move his lips, let alone vibrate his vocal cords. With every passing second, he strains himself to speak, until finally a coarse sound emanates from his dry throat, "I…" He whispers, looking up at the doctor, "…can't."

The doctor pulls out a clip board and jots down notes, "How are you feeling?"

Michael attempts to speak again and, to his relief, finds it much easier on the third try. "I… I think I'm going to be fine." The pain releases its clutches from Michael's tormented skull, leaving him feeling lighter than ever. His eyes slowly focus, allowing him to see with twenty-twenty vision. With a surprised look on his face, he glances up at the doctor. "Hey, I… I know you from somewhere." The doctor smiles at him. "I'm terribly sorry," he continues, "but, I just can't remember from where!"

"That's alright; you'll regain your memory sooner or later." She continues to smile at him before making her way to the door.

"Wait!"

The doctor pauses at the door.

"What's happening to me? What's happened to my people?"

"Wait a minute, you mean you don't know?" Robin replies.

"All we know is that everyone began screaming at 2:37pm." The doctor answers Mike, before leaving. Raven follows her out, a curious look cast upon her face.

"Where are the rest of my people?" Michael asks with desperation.

Everyone looks down before Robin answers, "Five of them died, earlier today."

In shock, Michael replies, "How?"

"The doctors didn't say."

Michael looks down in disappointment. His mind wanders within the archives of his memory, recalling quick glimpses of the scorched dead from the aftermath of the first bombing along with the sudden feeling of being the only one left alive. Dark figures creep towards him, in an effort to devour his sanity, revealing familiar faces as they enter the light. What has become of his people? Will they ever rest in peace?

"I don't suppose you know what that substance is, in your bodies?" Robin grabs him back to reality, his face molded with curiosity, but with a tint of sympathy.

"It was supposed to be the cure."

"The cure?" Beast Boy begins, "The cure for what?"

"My people were infected by something; something you don't ever want to witness to a population of six billion." Michael stares out into space, a moment given for him to find a place to continue. "It started slowly, but as time progressed, the signs began to appear more rapidly. Soon, more than six billion people were infected, all manifesting their own demons. Eventually, my group ran into an organization of scientists who were attempting to make a cure from the donated antibodies of the seemingly immune."

"Did it work?"

"For some, it did, but for others, it seemed to speed up the symptoms. Now, those who've escaped our destroyed planet are the few who are immune to the infection. Or, so I thought."

A grim silence sweeps over them, a shroud of paranoia following in pursuit.

"Then," Robin begins, "we've brought a disease into our world?"

"No. A scientist explained to me that what we were fighting was not a disease, but a reaction to the exposure of an immense amount of energy."

"Huh?" Beast Boy replies dumbfounded.

"He means," Cyborg assists, "that we can't contract it."

"Oooh."

"Then," Robin continues, "What are the symptoms?"

"It starts out as a splitting headache you can't get rid of, but as time progresses, emotion begins clouding your mind and you become a totally different person. That's all the scientists would tell me."

Silence befalls the room once more, before the doctor, along with Raven, walks into the room.

"Ok, Michael, everything checks out. You're free to go."

Surprised, Michael looks at the doctor, "Already?"

The doctor nods, "It is best if you rest with the Titans. We can't protect you from Vaccine, but it is evident that your body is undergoing a mutation unlike anything we've seen-"

"-and you want to study me?"

The doctor pauses. "It isn't just you, Michael. The other two are going through the same thing, only a slight difference in mutations. Besides, there's a law, in this world, that states that we can't study anyone who's either undergoing a mutation or has already been through one. Otherwise, the Titan's would have been studied long ago. I'm merely trying to help you and your people, mainly because of what you did for me."

Michael suddenly remembers where he had seen her. "Now I remember," he begins, "you were covered with soot, then. I can't believe I forgot the face of the first person I saved from a burning building!"

The doctor smiles, "Nice to see you again."

"Heh, uh, you too, though I wish under different circumstances."

The doctor unwittingly flirts with the blind man before putting her clipboard under her arm, "Well, I should get back to work. I need to check up on the other two. Take care, Michael."

"You too," he calls after her as she leaves. Mike attempts to get out of bed before noticing that he's in a patient's outfit. "Uh," he says, turning to the Titans, "I'll meet up with you downstairs, I need to change back into my clothes."

"Alright," Robin begins, "Beast Boy, you can wait downstairs for Michael. The rest of the team, you can head home. I'm going to go check up on the other two survivors." The team leaves the room, leaving Michael to change clothes.

Putting on his pants, he buckles his belt around his waist. The cool air brushes against his naked torso, goose bumps spreading around his skin as a chill runs down his spine. For a moment, he pauses, a strange feeling passing over him, as if something was different.

Suddenly, Michael is interrupted by an unbearable pain. Beginning at the cervical vertebrae, a burning sensation creeps up and into the core of his skull, as if a searing hot branding iron was being shoved through his back and into his unwilling brain. Michael tightly shuts his eyes and clutches his head, the pain growing. Objects around the room start to vibrate while the electronics slightly flicker, but Michael's too busy, focusing on the pain, to notice. After some time, the pain immediately stops, the objects following its lead. Michael's left breathing heavily from lack of oxygen.

He takes a moment to sit on the bed, trying to calm himself down. He takes a moment to think, the sound of a cracking whip echoing throughout his mind. Images of people collapsing, while walking through downtown Portland, flood his mind, haunting him of what's to come. He takes a deep breath and rests his forehead against his hand, gauging its temperature. He was burning up, but it didn't stop him from putting on the remainder of his clothes.

"_...reports of numerous people collapsing from… seem to be… -ing de…"_


End file.
